


Third Party

by Pares (kormantic)



Category: due South
Genre: And Taking Him Back to the Hotel, F/M, M/M, Picking Up a Third in a Bar, Stella's in Charge, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-17
Updated: 2002-11-17
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kormantic/pseuds/Pares
Summary: It's all his, and everything that's his is Stella's and this is for both of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Very special thanks to Laura and Bone for delicious, nutritious beta!

Maybe twice a year she'll rent a car and pick him up in the pool parking lot. She always drives, even if Ray picks the place. Even though it's Saturday, he'd had to stay late and finish up with Frank's paperwork or get spanked by the Lieu again.

He hears gravel crunch under the wheels as she pulls up next to him in a mid-sized sedan, looking like a cool breeze in a short (but not _too_ short) ice-blue satin dress with spaghetti straps. He grins at her and she pretends to ignore him. Like she's a bus driver and he's just another fare.

It's after eight already, and he's beat. It'll be at least two hours before they get anywhere. He pushes the seat back as far as it'll go and settles back to breathe in the new car smell. It smells bland and anonymous, the way hotel rooms should smell but never do. It smells like it's been put together by robots, and for some reason that makes him think of his dad, with his blue work shirt rolled up over his arms, grease under his nails like comic book outlines.

He naps a little, lets Stella wind them down the freeway to the bigger suburbs. He knows she's packed a bag for him, and that he'll shower and maybe shave, maybe not when they get to the hotel. The chances are good she'll have bought some new lingerie, and that maybe she's rolled it up in his boxers so that even their underwear gets a little action on this trip. He smiles to himself, eyes closed in the car, the hum of the road beneath them and Stella tapping her fresh manicure against the wheel at lights and tolls. She never plays the radio on the way there.

* * *

In the car again, Ray in a clean T-shirt under his jacket, hair spiked high. When he'd held up his razor, Stella had studied him a moment before shaking her head. He's looking for a place on Dean that he'd overheard the new records babe talking about. Mitzi'd spent most of her afternoon bitching to her boyfriend about all the dives he'd dragged her to in the great state of Illinois.

He finally sees it, and decides it looks about right. He taps the window and glances at Stella, who lifts her chin, trying to find a parking space.

* * *

He'd counted on Mitzi to exaggerate and the place isn't half bad. A crowd of regulars at the bar, some empty booths, low light and enough smoke to feel like ambience. Stella still looks too good for the scarred wooden stools, but he fits right in. Catches a few eyes right out of the gate, but him and Stella always turn heads.

It's early, and the crowds won't be along for another hour or so. He knocks on the counter and orders a Dos Equis and a Honeybrown, then leaves her at the bar so he can take a leak.

By the time he's washed up and on his way back, some smooth talker's already doing the lean on Stella.

He strolls up behind her and rests a hand on her shoulder. He can feel her smile, and he smiles too, the one that's all attitude and teeth. He tips his head a little, and waits to see what the guy's gonna do about it. Stella laces a hand around his back underneath his jacket and plucks at his T-shirt.

Smooth Talker goes a little pale and backs off. He even remembers to take his beer with him. Stella nestles close for a moment, tucking three fingers in the waist of Ray's jeans. Then she sits up straight again, and takes her arm back. Ray kisses her hair and eases away. He decides to take a circuit around the room, see what he can see. He remembers to take his beer with him, too.

* * *

The kid's pretty, all big eyes and long legs. He's 21 or 22 maybe, but he's not new at this, and when he bumps shoulders with Ray at the bar, Ray counts to three before he sees the guy smile.

"Davie."

"Ray."

"You from out of town?"

Ray smiles back after his own pause, toying with his empty beer bottle.

"Just driving through, yeah. Staying the night."

Davie shifts closer, and Ray can feel his hip and thigh scrape his jeans. He leans forward, hands spread on the bar and smiles sideways, showing teeth just as pretty as the rest of him. When his eyes hit the light right, they're the same color as the beer in his mug.

"Wanna play some pool?"

"Nah. Wanna make out?"

The kid laughs into his drink.

"Yeah. Okay."

The kid's hair is brown, and long enough to touch the collar of his plain white tee. Ray sets his beer bottle down and makes for the rest rooms in the back; the overhead lamp in the short hallway that lead to the john is out and it's as good a place as any to see what the kid has under his hood. He leans back against the wall, lumpy with scraped paint and old band stickers and waits for Davie to finish his beer.

When he shows up, tall as hell and walking cowboy slow in his low-slung jeans, Ray lowers his head and checks him out under his lashes. Davie lounges against the wall beside him and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"You could blow me in the stalls," Davie says.

Ray grins in the half-dark. He likes this kid.

"Don't wanna."

"You got a hotel room?"

"What's your hurry? " He gives a half turn, shoulder wedged against the wall, one hand against the wall so his arm closes Davie in. "You could be a shitty kisser."

The guy knows a challenge when he hears one, and that big, soft mouth sips a breath out of him before pushing a slick, beer-bitter tongue past his teeth.

Ray finds himself pushing at him, trying to tug him closer and half-climb him. For his part, Davie kisses like he's drowning and Ray has all the air. It's fun, if you don't miss breathing.

He has no idea how long they've been at it before Stella finds them.

She doesn't even clear her throat. The tap of her expensive shoes on the beer-warped floorboards is enough.

Davie jumps like he's been goosed. Ray snorts and grins at Stella.

She arches one eyebrow and tips her head. Ray shrugs a little, then slings a companionable arm around the kid's shoulders. She gives the guy an assessing stare like the one she used before nixing Ray's shave, and then steps in real close. She has to lean her head back, because the kid's taller than Ray is, but she seems to like what she sees.

Ray can feel that old sweet tingle come back. It makes him restless, want to maybe dance, definitely fuck. He watches Stella rest the flat of one hand against Davie's chest, then slide her hand up and cup the back of his neck. Davie looks mildly freaked, but he doesn't bolt. He looks over at Ray, who nods once, and back at Stella, all glints of gold in the shitty light in the alcove by the men's room. He looks down at Stella, who's skating another hand up his chest, and Ray can see him decide before he lowers his head to kiss her. She doesn't let him, but she presses her fingers against his soft mouth and says, "You can come."

* * *

Ray doesn't like first-timers much. It's a lot of work, a lot of hand-holding and he has to give them rules. He hates that shit.

But Davie's not new to sex, only to the third party cha-cha, and Ray figures he'll be a quick study.

"You don't touch her."

And really, that's the only rule that counts.

Davie nods, his long brown hair falling in his face. His mouth is slightly open, and he keeps glancing back to Ray, his pink tongue making that soft mouth gleam.

Ray takes his chin in his hand and pulls Davie down for a kiss, licking the guys lips _for_ him.

"Good boy. Second rule: you do as she says. That's not negotiable."

He tugs Davie's shirt up and off and pats the top of his head.

Davie's all tan and smooth and Ray can count his ribs, but he's still got twenty, thirty pounds on Ray. His big brown eyes are soft and a little wild. "Now listen up, we're not going to hurt you. We don't play rough. But you have to play by our rules."

Davie nods, and reaches out for Ray's belt.

Ray slaps his hand away. "Wait. Wait for Stella, kid."

Davie's got a long, pretty, narrow face and shoulders as wide as two Rays. He's got a little stubble on his pointed chin, but that just makes his mouth look softer. He grins a little and leans back on the bed, feet set.

"I don't usually do two at a time."

"And you won't be, buddy. We're here for Stella. She's the brains, here. I'm just pretty." He grins back at the kid and Davie shakes his hair out of his eyes.

"You can start, Ray."

Stella's in the ugly-ass armchair, her legs crossed at the ankle, as polite and composed as a talk-show host.

Ray never looks away from Davie and shucks his jacket and then his T-shirt. He stands between Davie's spread knees and the kid waits.

"You can touch him now, Davie. Until I tell you to stop."

Davie sits up and folds his fingers in the pockets of Ray's pockets, dragging him close.

Ray likes his lean face, the way he smells like beer.

"You wanna suck me?" Ray asks.

Davie shakes his head.

"You looking to get fucked, Davie?"

Davie fishes out an accordion of condoms from his own pocket and starts unbuttoning his jeans.

Ray's never been one to enjoy a chatty Cathy, and he decides he likes Davie. Ray's barefoot and unzipped before the other guy's even rolled over. Stella stands now, and hands him a tube.

Davie, bare-assed and face down, kneels on the coverlet, face already rubbing into the pillow. His back expands and drops with long slow breaths, and Ray figures this is some kind of Zen sex trick when he tests the guy with a finger.

Nice.

Not a lot of prep here, and that's just fine.

He sees the kid start when Stella's cool hand strokes his back. She's cocking her head as if deciding to rearrange him.

"Look at me, Davie." Her voice is so low and soft Ray almost doesn't recognize it.

Ray bets she likes the way Davie's hair keeps falling in his face. His mouth is so fucking red, and his face looks sharp enough to cut her hand when she cups his cheek.

"Is there anything you want?"

Davie just blinks at her. Ray can see the guy's breath making his hair flutter a little by his mouth.

"She means, anything specific? You want it hard? You want me to kiss you some more? You want to call me Daddy?" He waggles his eyebrows, and the kid shakes his head, smothers a laugh in the pillow.

Then he's craning his neck over one shoulder, eyes glinting. "I want it hard. But I'll call you Daddy if you really want me to, mister."

Ray grins, the kind of grin that makes perps back away, but Davie has to know he's only having a good time. Fun times. The _best_.

He kneels on the bed behind the kid and Davie drops his head, bracing his arms.

"Start slow, Ray." Stella's voice is cool and steady, and he nods absently. Davie's arms relax, and that's when Ray pushes in.

"Ffffffuck--" Davie's already breathless, and Ray's a little crazy: alive with the kid's heat, with the sinking mattress beneath his knees, the cool mechanical breeze of the hotel swirling around his shoulders, and the soft drift of Stella, her perfume weaving around him like smoke as she paces beside them.

Davie's legs are long and skinny, but hard against his own thighs. He rears back a little, resting his hands on Davie's hips, not hanging on yet.

He's working his way into a rhythm; he closes his eyes and lifts his chin. Rock and roll. The old fuck. It's all his, and everything that's his is Stella's and this is for both of them. The kid might as well not even be there. Except... he is.

Ray opens his eyes to see Davie's sweat slicked-back, the flush making the skin a pretty color you never see anyway else.

Even slow, Ray can feel the action build. Can feel his heart rate climb right up. He rocks again, deep, trying to be slow, and there's Stella's hand against his throat.

"Lean forward and kiss him... Here."

She trails her fingertip along the ridge of the guy's spine and Ray obeys.

Davie is crooning softly, shaky little breaths and he's muttering into his pillow and Stella's petting Ray's hair, and then the little tug that means 'Look at me, Ray.'

So he does. She's his whole world, all cool blue, like a girl-shaped ocean with the sun in her hair.

Ray's dripping sweat and her nails are hard against his skin, at his shoulder, in his hair, and he strains for her, and the boy gasps.

She kisses him, and he closes his eyes so he can taste her better, and he's working Davie hard now, he's pounding him and somehow Stella hangs on to him, in no hurry.

The kid's getting louder, and Ray hides his face against the soft skin of Stella's throat for just a moment before she lets him go.

"Make him come, Ray."

The bed isn't so big that he can't feel her when she lies down beside them.

Her hair is smooth, her hands are relaxed, and she's watching Davie's dick bounce as the kid pants under him.

She reaches out and strokes Davie's belly, and Ray wants to lick the sweat from her palm. Urgent little moans from Davie now and Ray can hear him cursing actual words.

Stella rolls on her side to watch them both, her brows furrowed as she studies them. Her other hand wipes along the kid's back, now, and Ray feels Davie's body stutter, throw the rhythm and catch it again.

Ray presses her hand against the other man's back and his knuckles are white on Davie's hip.

"Come on, motherfucker, she wants you to _come_ \--" His own voice is collapsing, and his jaw is locked. Fuck fuck fuck fuck is the only thing his body knows; words are for later, and before.

Finally, he can feel the little jolt that means Davie is coming.

Stella lifts her hand from the blanket beneath Davie's heaving body, showing Ray he's done his job: her free hand is striped with white.

Ray is nodding, and trying to stop.

He can feel Davie sighing, and slacking down.

"Fun," Ray murmurs, pulling out. He knots the empty condom out of habit and crawls past the gangly body of their third party.

"You can watch. And you can touch me," Stella says. Davie, flushed, his hair tacked to his face with sweat, gives her a lazy, bashful grin.

Then Stella turns her head and meets Ray's eyes as he kneels over her.

Ray takes Davie's big, knuckly hand and slides it down along Stella's belly and the fabric of her silky dress, and then guides that hand underneath her rucked-up skirt.

Her mouth is glossy and pink, like candy that's already been sucked on.

He can see her shiver, see her hair fan out on the pillow, see her throat flash, making the tiny links of her gold necklace shift.

She arches a little when Davie curls his fingers against her, and Ray knows just how wet she is, remembers it from a thousand times alone with her, knows the wet, soft throb of her, that feeling like you could sink right through her to the other side...

She's breathing harder now, her eyes all silvery, locked with his.

There's no one else for Stella.

Ray's the only one in the room, she proves it with every little gasp, even though Ray's not touching her at all.

He bends his elbows so he can hover over her, touches the nipple of her left breast, peaked under her thin dress, with his breath. Then his lips. Then his teeth.

Her cheeks are pink now, streaks of color along her neck-- she gets blotchy when she's hot, and fuck, it turns him on--

He can feel Davie's arm brush against his dick as Davie works his wife.

The wiry hairs there only remind him of Stella, and he can have her now, she's ready for him.

"Say it, Stella. Say it."

Her eyes are glazed and wild but she never looks away.

He parts her lips with his thumb, feels the slick edge of her teeth.

"You've gotta say it, Stella," he reminds her.

She bites his thumb, hard, and he yanks it away, laughing.

He strokes one hand up along her thigh, pushing her dress up higher, and she finally closes her eyes, shaking her head.

"Stella."

She bucks a little, and Davie's hand never slows down or speeds up.

Finally, she can't take it any more.

"Ray. Ray. _Please_ \--"

Her eyebrows are tense, her face is peach pink and warm against his own cheek and he sighs her name in her ear, soothes her, promises her, and finally, finally fucks her--

Ray almost hates it, it's so strong. The deep-sigh relief of it, because he always worries she'll change her mind.

Her thighs wrap around his and she brings her hands up to push against the headboard.

She makes desperate little sobs, and she pushes so fiercely against him that there have been times she's shoved him right off the bed.

Ray never notices when Davie takes his hand back, he only knows when Stella comes like a clenched fist around him, and that's when he's allowed to let go.

"love you love you--"

She never hears him.

She tosses her head, as if she thinks he's a liar, and she always _always_ looks angry when they're done.

But it's only for a second.

Ray pets her hair, touches her lower lip with his thumb when she's quiet.

She opens her eyes again and her whole face is shining. Stella glows in the dark.

But the hotel room has two old yellow lamps, and Ray remembers the kid beside them and he and Stella both turn their heads toward him at the same time.

"You can go now," Stella tells him.

Ray stands up when Davie does, and they tug their jeans on in tandem.

Ray zips up and holds out a hand to Davie before he pulls his shirt back over his head. Davie gives him a wary look before smiling slightly and shaking Ray's hand.

"Had fun." Davie holds still and then finally nods.

"Me too," he says.

Ray locks the door behind him, and when he turns around, Stella is already in the shower.

In the morning, she'll wake him up wearing the new lingerie for the twenty seconds it'll take him to unhitch it, and they'll fuck until they rinse off in the twenty minutes before checkout.

* * *

Ray usually drives them back.

Stella's in loose cotton slacks and a snug gray T-shirt. One of Ray's. She ignores him on the drive home, thumbing through some briefs she packed along with her undies.

She lets him choose the music. It used to bug her that he was always restlessly searching the dial, but now she never seems to hear even the _good_ songs.

Soon, they'll hit town and have breakfast for lunch (never fucking _brunch_ ) at Patsio's, a little Greek diner they've been going to since they used to soak away hangovers with French toast and rootbeer floats, first at four in the morning, and then again after they'd crawled out of bed. One black-and-white (split in half) and a box full of (always stale) baklava for later.

She'll order eggs and make notes for court in the morning, and he'll eat her homefries and his own plate of French toast, and remember when she used to lick the powdered sugar off his fingertips right there in the booth.


End file.
